“More than one in four women have had an abortion. This is an epidemic! So many are hurting. But because of God’s grace, and His grace alone, I am given the privilege to meet other women in their own struggle with abortion, and I can show them the beautiful complete healing of Jesus.”
On January 22, 2020, the 47th anniversary of Roe v Wade, 130 pro-lifers gathered in front of Planned Parenthood, Warminster, PA for a Prayer Rally for Life. Wendy Schettig was one of the invited guest speakers. She shared her compelling testimony about the impact of having an abortion as a 19 year-old teen. Her journey takes her from deep regret, extreme emotional pain and mental breakdowns to forgiveness, healing and redemption through Jesus and His Holy Word.
Wendy is a wife, mother and musician, singer/song writer. She has a ministry to post-abortive women, faithstep. Wendy’s healing and inspirational music is available at wendyschettig.com/cds. Read her miraculous testimony below.
Below is a very personal story, my story about abortion. The reason I tell you this story is because I want others to know there is help for women and men who are struggling with abortion(s) in their past. It’s not a political story, it’s just a very true story about the pain I was unable to reconcile between myself, my unborn baby, and God. It was only when I finally grasped the true depth of God’s love that I found healing. Here is my story:
I had an abortion in August 1975 when I was 19 years old. I lived in a small town in Maine at home with my Dad who was verbally abusive and a heavy drinker. I was afraid of Dad and afraid of what the small-town-busybodies would say when they found out I was pregnant. The baby’s father didn’t hesitate to strongly suggest abortion. So I took what I thought was the easy way out and had an abortion. I was told I could have this procedure, forget about it, and go on with my life like nothing happened. I was young and naive, so I believed them.
Although I had been told the baby inside me wasn’t much more than a bunch of cells, deep down I knew this was a little life that trusted me to protect it. It seemed easier not to dwell on what I thought was true, so it served my purposes to bury my doubts.
However, during the abortion, with the truth ripping at my soul, I cried bitterly as I lay on the table. I believed my baby’s soul was floating upward and away into the darkness of space without love and surrounded by the cold. In the days and years to come, the terrible emptiness of that thought took me to untold depths.
When the abortion was over, I asked the nurse if my baby was a boy or a girl. She laughed and answered harshly, “How should I know? It came out in lots of little pieces.” I was horrified. I could do nothing else but choke down my feelings, get up and walk away.
I managed not to think about it most of the time, but a slow insidious grief crept in. I became withdrawn. I allowed thoughts of condemnation to seep into my mind. They were words of deep shame and worthlessness.
The abusive words I continued to hear from my father rang truer than ever because now they validated the horrible person I had become. I hated myself. I apologized for my very existence and felt grateful that anyone would bother to house me. I thought I would be better off dead so the rest of the world would have one less burdensome mouth to feed.
A year later I married a man who knew nothing about the abortion. I hoped I could fix my pain by changing my living situation and my home. I was just making more mistakes to try to fix the old ones, and more people were getting hurt in the process.
By the time I was twenty one, I had been married, divorced, and alienated from my dad. I drank too much and continued down a path of destruction. I was an emotional meltdown waiting to happen. That meltdown came three years later in the form of a terrible nightmare. I dreamed I gave birth to my lost baby. I was excited at the thought of seeing my baby, but before I could hold it or even see it, the doctor wrapped it up and took it away. I ran down the hall crying for my baby, but when I found it I was horrified to see the doctor chopping it up with a butcher knife. I awoke screaming at the doctor to stop killing my baby.
After the dream that night I lay there in the dark crying and bitterly hating the doctor. As I sorted out the memory of my dream, I was initially relieved that the nightmare was just a dream. It hurt as I felt strong maternal instincts for my baby and dearly longed for it to be alive with me. But then the deep hidden truth crept in — this nightmare was real — the baby was real — the doctor was real — and a powerful Truth spoke directly to my soul, “The doctor didn’t kill my baby. I did.”
I cried for two days. I couldn’t get out of bed. I just cried. As I lay there alone thinking, I decided I should die. Then I thought about hell. Prior to this I didn’t think hell existed, but now I realized there must be a hell for people like me. If I killed myself, I would surely go there. I wanted to crawl out of my own skin and be someone or even something else. Then I thought about God. I didn’t know much about God, but I knew he was angry with me. I surely didn’t deserve anything else but death and hell.
After the second day of crying, I mustered up enough self preservation to run away. I decided to run away from me. I hoped maybe I would be able to start a new life again somewhere where nobody knew me. Then maybe after twenty years or so God would forget what I did, and He would let me be His friend. So I grabbed a few clothes, my guitar, and drove away. I left what I knew behind and went looking for God.